


Coffee and Bacon

by AdamantSteve



Series: Dutch Courage [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Dirty Talk, First Date, First Time, Fluffy Porn, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 01:42:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/pseuds/AdamantSteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up with a hangover and finding a drunken voicemail from himself, Phil Coulson ends up going on a date with Clint Barton, which turns out very nicely all round.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee and Bacon

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a quick thing and then turned into a pretty long porny (and slightly feelsy) story (though mostly porn). 
> 
> From Phil's perspective and it's kinda bottom!Phil.
> 
> Thanks for the beta read from [Dunicha](http://dunicha.tumblr.com) :)

_“Hi, Phil? It’s me, you. From the... past? I’m drunk and Clint won’t kiss me cause he doesn’t believe you like him? I don’t know. You have to ask him, he says. Right?”_ \- loud noise, the next part muffled - _“Will you talk to him?”_ \- another voice - _“Sure.”_ \- a click and the muffling goes away - _“Hi, Phil. Drunk-you tells me you want to make out with me but I told him I gotta get permission from sober-you. So when you listen to this, if you haven’t died from embarrassment I guess you should maybe give me a call? Although if you don’t bring this up I guess I’ll keep it to myself too. So don’t worry.”_

 

Phil screwed his eyes closed and smacked the phone against his forehead. It made no difference to the din of pain rattling around his skull.  He listened to the call again. Goddamn Hill. She was the slyest tactician he'd ever met. Making sure Clint wasn't around when he _started_ drinking - with Sitwell no less - and then have everyone disappear so they were left alone for him to say god knows what to the man. 

 

Clint must have just been humouring him. Just being a good guy. For all his baggage he was such a fucking _good guy_. Phil'd have let him do anything last night. But he'd woken up to a bottle of water and the trash can - the fucking trash can - next to him. And he wasn't dressed. 

Well, saying he'd have let Clint do anything did rather assume a lot. Like that Clint in any way wanted him. 

Oh god.

 

He listened again just for masochism's sake. He was filled with mostly dread and self-flagellating hatred, but then again... 

Clint could have just said _no_. All this permission stuff might just have been humouring him but it might _not_. And hell, sober-Phil's answer was pretty much always yes to the things loose-lipped drunk-Phil wanted. Maybe not embarrassing himself like that but the kernel of it: wanting to kiss Clint? Yes please. 

 

He had a choice: ignore it and take Clint at his word that he wouldn't mention it, or just call him and apologise. Get it all out in the open. 

He went to listen to it again but dropped the phone on his face. When he picked it up again it was calling someone. "Shit!" 

Clint answered on the fourth ring, after Phil had debated whether or not to hang up an infinite number of times. 

He must have still been drunker than he thought, because when he ended the call Clint was promising to come get him and take him to breakfast and he wasn’t quite sure how that had happened.

 

Coffee and bacon. Even on the worst days, coffee and bacon made things better. And sure, Clint was looking at him like he was nuts, like _he_ was nuts for even being there with him, but he was _there_. He hadn't completely shunned him. 

 

"You know, I did actually think about making a little medal for it," Phil promised when the subject of Clint having the Best Ass in SHIELD, since it was true and Clint might as well know what he was getting into if this whole thing wasn't just some mid-morning hallucination. 

Clint just agreed to go on a date with him so he was 90% sure it was a hallucination. There _had_ been absinthe.

 

The full gravity of the situation didn't really dawn on Phil til the late afternoon, back at home and showered (again), salt and caffeine settling his stomach in the best way. A date. For real. 'For realsies' Phil had said in the diner, cause he was still drunk then and an idiot always where Clint was concerned. He'd not felt like this since college. 

Sitwell called him to find out what had happened and he chewed him out half-heartedly, less so when the man pointed out that Phil would never have asked Clint out had he not been fall down drunk. "Yep, I'm a real catch," he had joked, and practically heard Jasper's eyes roll over the phone. 

 

It was a couple of days before they got to actually go out somewhere, but Phil blushed like a schoolgirl whenever he saw Clint on the Helicarrier. What was he even doing? 

 

Italian restaurant, wine (but not too much), carbs and cheese and a conversation that wasn't about how drunk he'd been _that night,_ and then it was over. A nice date, but now the nerves were there. Nerves that all those weird shots had taken away when he'd told Clint how he wanted to bite his ass. 

 

"So," Phil began since he’d been the one who’d orchestrated this whole thing. "I think I recall you sought out permission for something recently?" Like he was so smooth. 

Clint laughed and looked down. God he was so fucking beautiful. Phil wondered for the tenth time how he was even there. "Well, I actually had to go to two sources for it."

"Is that so?" And they were closer now, and Clint was licking his lips. "Uh huh," he said, the air warm on Phil's lips and either the drunken hallucination was one of those really elaborate day-long ones where weeks pass in the blink of a spinning moment or they were actually kissing, Clint's lips a little dry and tasting like garlic and fucking perfect. And hell, if it _was_ a hallucination, some fun little daydream, why _not_ add some tongue? Hot and soft and wet sliding into Phil's mouth and his own tongue sliding into Clint's. 

 

His hands - Clint's hands, for Phil was starting to forget where he ended and Clint began - slid around Phil's waist and held him there, stopped the spinning. Under his jacket right where his gun would normally be but now it was just his shirt and the sensitive skin underneath it, all hot and prickling from the foreign touch. "Is this really happening?" Phil heard himself say and Clint just grinned and nodded and didn't let go. 

 

Phil's hands on Clint felt too sensitive, as though they were trying to catalogue every inch they could get their hands on, map every single bit of the millions of muscles Clint somehow hid under that smart shirt that Phil wanted to tear off but also keep him in forever.

 

"Do you have to get permission for anything else?" Phil asked, and Clint laughed again. The best sound. "Well, you _have_ had wine," he reminded him. 

"I have a breathalyser," Phil said because it was true and it made Clint laugh some more. 

 

A short drive and fumbling with keys and they were in his bedroom. Clint Barton standing there in _Phil Coulson's bedroom_ and he couldn't help but remember the phone call again, a memory made more from listening to the voicemail than any recollection of the event itself. "You need to make any calls?" Clint asked, pulling Phil's phone out of his pocket and then going back to kissing his neck like some ungodly creature of seduction. "Uh-uh, no calls," Phil promised. "What about you?" Clint shook his head and kissed him again as he pulled Phil's shirt out of his trousers to run hot hands up underneath it.

 

It had been so long since Phil had felt someone else’s hands on his skin, so perhaps it always felt this electric, fingers running over the hairs on his belly and up and over his, jesus, his _nipples_. But maybe it was Clint, infused with that fizzing energy of his that was somehow right now being directed at Phil, focussed and sparking out of the grooves of his fingerprints and burning through him like the hot orange smoldering of paper on fire. 

 

He only realised he was essentially just standing there while Clint burned through him when he stopped, faltering and taking those sizzling hands away. “Sorry, do you not-?” He looked as unsure and worried as Phil felt, as though Clint wasn’t sure of Phil’s interest, which was patently ridiculous. “No! I mean yes. Yes! Can I take your shirt off?” 

 

Clint ducked his head and Phil thought for a terrifying moment he’d misread it all and this was it, Clint would be changing his mind and gone. But then he looked back and up at Phil through eyelashes that had no right to be so pretty, a smile playing on his lips that was equal parts shy and lascivious. He let go of Phil to step away and pull off his shirt in one swift movement and Phil was once again knocked into silent amazement that this was actually happening. 

 

“God, you’re beautiful,” Phil murmured, taking in the way the lamp light picked out every muscle under Clint’s gorgeous skin. The few scars that marred it only served to make him more beautiful, more real and true and _there_ , there in _Phil’s bedroom_ of all the places he could be. Clint looked at Phil again, entirely un-self-conscious. “Take off your shirt,” he said, and it came out a little like a question but Phil had no intention of refusing Clint anything. Not _now_. Not _here_.

 

Phil unbuttoned the last of his shirt and wrestled with the traitorous tie that had never crossed him so cruelly before. So much for being smooth. Eventually he just pulled the knotted thing off over his head before letting his shirt go, sticking at his wrists where he’d forgotten to undo the cuffs. “Goddammit,” he mumbled, trying to pull it off the rest of the way over his watch and suddenly giant hands, but was cut off when Clint barrelled into him, pushing him closer to the bed and kissing Phil’s now completely exposed neck. 

 

It was the most delicious torment: to try to remain at least composed enough to get his hands to work and touch Clint back when his neck was being kneaded into tingling ecstasy by Clint’s lips, but Phil drew on his reserves of willpower to spread his hands and slide them along Clint’s sides which immediately rewarded him with a moan sent directly into his own skin. Clint’s torso was so hot and smooth and every movement of Phil’s hands was responded to just like the kisses had been. They were as good as they were in the field, with Clint anticipating Phil’s movements and giving him just as good back. 

 

Those lips were back on Phil’s suddenly, like Clint had actually heard Phil’s thoughts, tinged with a desperation there hadn’t been before, his hands clinging to Phil as Phil ran his own over the pectoral muscles he’d jerked off thinking about too many times. He squeezed them and Clint bit Phil’s bottom lip as he moaned at him, eyes a blur this close, squeezing shut in what Phil was pretty sure was arousal. Clint made an almost apologetic thrust against Phil and that told him for sure what it was, using the opportunity to thrust back as though their dicks were meeting for the first time and this was some sort of penis greeting, which was a ridiculous thought but turned Phil on anyway. 

 

“What do you want to do?” Clint panted, resting his forehead against Phil’s and just holding on tight like Phil would run away otherwise. He held on just as tight back. “Whatever you want. Anything,” Phil replied, meaning it. “Can I suck your dick?” Clint asked with his head turned into Phil’s neck so he couldn’t see his face, which seemed to be kind of a thing. It shouldn’t have been so goddamn sweet but it was. “I wanna suck yours,” Phil answered, unhelpfully. Clint laughed again and then they were tumbling onto the bed, a mess of limbs and then fabric and shoes as they got each other naked. 

 

Phil felt exposed like this, his own body paling in comparison to Clint’s. Sure he was strong enough and trim, chest covered in hair that most people who’d seen it in this context seemed to like well enough. His cock was a good size though it bent slightly to the left like this: hard and straining against nothing. He had some ugly scars here and there that were to be expected with the life he’d led and a few faded tattoos he tended to forget about until times like this, bare and exposed in front of someone else. 

 

But Clint was perfection. A body wrought of hard work and dedication and skill, broad and strong and leaning over Phil looking up and down his body as if it was worth looking at when Clint’s tanned skin and stupid muscles were in the same room. If Phil looked like that he’d just stare at himself in the mirror all day, jerking that eager-looking cock til he was sore from it and then just going back to staring in the mirror til he was ready to go again. 

 

Clint bent to kiss Phil, covering him with half his body and kissing him softer now as his hand, rough and calloused despite all the lanolin he was constantly rubbing into it drifted down Phil’s chest and around his cock, just the touch of it making Phil spasm with pleasure. “Sorry!” Clint said, pulling back, with that panicked look on his face again. Are you-” 

“No, it’s just really good! I mean,” _Jesus Phil, be cool._ “Hold on one second. Don’t move.” He slid out from under Clint to strain as he reached to the dresser, laughing when he couldn’t quite reach without moving further away from Clint, who wrapped a hand around Phil’s thigh as he finally got the drawer open. He felt without looking for the lube, knowing condoms were in there but not wanting to be presumptious, grabbing the embarrassingly un-full bottle and leaving the drawer open as he lay back on the bed. They were in different positions now, and Clint, always one to take initiative, took it upon himself to lick experimentally at Phil’s cock. “Holy-” Phil started, stunned into silence when Clint did it again, hand curled possessively around Phil’s thigh and holding him there like he was still somehow convinced Phil was going to leave. 

 

Phil wasn’t going to leave. He’d stay on that bed forever if Clint wanted him to. Hell, he’d stay on that bed forever anyway, since he surely couldn’t live through this. This was like one of those out of body experiences people had just before they died, ecstatic pleasure as angels lifted them away from the mortal realm. Clint’s mouth was wet and hot and tight, his hands holding him still as he worked on him, up and down making him wetter with every stroke. 

 

The hands moved and Phil thought it was perhaps his turn to get to know Clint’s cock and hope to treat it to some of the same hospitality Clint’s mouth had afforded his, but then something snapped closed and warm wet hands were on his balls now, tugging and stroking the skin with the wet slick of lube as Clint’s mouth continued it’s good work. Phil moaned louder than he meant to and he wished he could see what Clint was doing, wished it wasn’t just feeling but visual too, til he remembered that his eyes were right there and he could just open them and _see_. 

 

His eyes snapped open and there it was, Clint Barton sucking his dick and fondling his balls as he did it, his eyes watching Phil like they watched everything. Clint did something with his tongue and Phil gasped, so Clint did it again. He moved his hand and a slippery finger slid lower and made Phil’s breath catch, so he did that again too, a constant push and pull of action and reaction, til Phil was helplessly thrusting into Clint’s mouth and pushing down for the finger Clint was teasing him with. 

 

“I’m gonna come, Clint, I’m sorry, I have to-” Phil started, but then Clint pulled back, leaving Phil writhing and thrusting into nothing. He just looked up at him in question. “But you said you’d suck my dick,” he said, like it was the most unfair thing in the world if Phil came before that. 

 

Phil found some semblance of composure and surged up to roll them til Clint was flat on his back, batting the hand he was stroking himself with away and getting his mouth on it instead. Mission parameters set: objective: suck Clint Barton’s dick. “Holy shit Phil,” Clint gasped as he pushed himself down to take as much of Clint’s length as possible, slowly drawing off as wetly as he could. “Where the fuck did you learn to do that?” Phil kissed his way back down to lick at the sweet pair of balls at the base, and it was weird to think of them as sweet but he did somehow, feeling this urge to just pet them and keep them safe. “If I told you,” he said, muffled in the warm skin between Clint’s balls and his thigh, “I’d have to kill you.” 

 

Clint’s laugh turned into a whine as Phil licked tiny circles back up to the tip of his dick before concentrating on the head of it, holding on with one hand and swiping it across his tongue before sucking the whole thing again. The muscles in Clint’s thighs tensed and relaxed and then tensed again and Phil realised he was close to coming. “You need to come? Do you need to come, Clint?” 

“Fuck, Phil,” Clint answered, head rolling from side to side when Phil pulled off to sit up and look at him properly. “I want,” he began, stopping himself but then starting again. “I want...” 

“What do you want? Tell me.” 

“I wanna come but I also want you to fuck me and I wanna fuck you and I wanna do everything,” he said all at once. “I wanna do it all.” 

Phil looked at him, all flushed and hot and hands fisting into the pillows. “We have time. We’ll do it all,” and how he hoped that was a promise he could keep.

 

Phil moved to lay beside Clint, his own erection brushing against Clint’s thigh and threatening to undo him even as he was using every ounce of his resolve not to come til he’d dealt with Clint. He gently kissed Clint’s neck like Clint had kissed him, gripping his cock again. Clint turned into Phil, holding onto him tightly as Phil worked Clint’s cock til he was thrusting up into Phil’s hand and coming with a choking sob.

 

Phil kissed him through it, stayed where Clint had him so tightly held as his pants turned into more even breaths and slowed back down. His hold on Phil loosened a little, and Phil made to roll over to the bedside table again to grab some tissues, but as soon as he moved Clint’s grip tightened again. “Don’t go! I mean. Not yet.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Phil promised. 

“I’ll. Do you in a minute,” Clint told him. 

Phil laughed. “It’s ok.”

“No, please. I want to. Please?” 

Phil didn’t know what to say. “Yes.”

Smooth.

 

Phil listened to Clint’s breathing slow and let him cling on as much as he wanted. It was nice, feeling this... protected and protective at the same time. Even with the aching erection that was thankfully starting to flag. “You really think we’ll do it again?” Clint asked with the most timid voice Phil had ever heard him use. “Well, I want to,” Phil answered truthfully. Simply. It was all rather simple suddenly. “And, I didn’t get to bite your ass yet.” 

Clint huffed into Phil’s neck and clung some more and Phil figured if aliens did attack or a meteor struck or World War III started, go ahead and let it. This was as good a place as any for his final moments. “All those votes I gave it, can’t let them go to waste.” Clint stilled in his arms. “I don’t _just_ like your ass though,” Phil reassured. “I like all of you. I mean, your brain, you know? Not just your body,” _way to be cool, Phil_. But he could feel Clint’s smile pressed into his neck before he moved so they were finally laying side by side. “I like your brain too,” Clint said into the air above them. “I like all of you.” 

 

“This moved awfully fast,” Phil said, hoping to break just how weirdly heavy and tension-filled the room suddenly felt. Perhaps not so simple after all. “Our lives are pretty fast,” Clint countered, and Phil supposed that was more than true. Before he could respond, Clint was on top of him again, kissing his way down Phil’s body til he was pushing at his dick with his nose. “Sorry,” Clint said as much to Phil’s mostly-soft cock as to him. “It’ll come back,” Phil assured him. “Trust me.” 

 

Clint didn’t just wait, pro-active in nudging Phil’s legs apart to get back to lavishing attention on his balls and the sensitive skin of his thighs. More lube was applied, everywhere now, that finger teasingly back where it had been loitering before. “Not tonight, but another time,” Clint started, head turned slightly away so Phil couldn’t quite read his expression, “can I really fuck you?” 

 

Things like that, like Clint Barton on his knees doing all this and saying that had Phil’s cock filled out and ready again, silently yearning for more of Clint’s intense affections. “Yes,” Phil said, surprising himself with how shaky his voice came out. He swallowed and tried again. “Yes please,” he amended, and ‘yes’ was fast becoming all he could say. Clint licked his lips at that and then went back to what he’d been threatening to do before: quietly destroying Phil with pleasure. 

 

Part of Phil wanted to find every other person who’d been practice leading up to this, the Greatest Blowjob In The World, and personally thank them for their part in it, and another part of him wanted to have them all silently assassinated for ever having a taste of this perfection. Natasha would do it, probably. For all the times Phil had thought it was weird to get turned on by Clint being so good at his job, it made sense now: Clint sucked dick like he worked a bow: rhythmic, steady, adaptive. Targeted. Phil realised he was practically writing a report in his head about the whole thing, wondering how to catalogue the way his _tongue_ did that _thing_ and how he felt like he was about to fly out of his skin from how good it felt.

 

Clint pulled off from Phil’s cock, panting from the effort of fucking _deepthroating_ him and staying down on it like he was trying to prove a point. His lips were wet and shiny as he spoke to Phil without meeting his eyes. “I’ll open you up slow,” he said, punctuating his statement with a rub of that finger, “when I fuck you,” and his eyes flicked up to meet Phil’s to make sure he knew what he was talking about as if it wasn’t clear. “Til you’re ready for me,” he slipped the finger inside Phil, just the very very tip of it, so teasing and nice. “til you’re pleading, _ordering_ me to do it.” 

 

“Yeah,” Phil agreed, mindless and ready to agree to anything but especially this, with dirty talk too. “And then you’ll fuck me?” Phil supplied, but Clint laughed and licked again at Phil’s balls, hiding his face again despite the things he was saying. “No. Then I’ll... eat you out. Til you’re begging,” 

“Clint,” 

“And _then_ I’ll do it, slide my cock in you and fill you up,”

“ _Clint_ ,” Phil pleaded, not sure for what. Clint’s finger was knuckle deep inside him now and he was just teasing at the head of his cock with his mouth. “And you’ll tell me how much you need it, how much you want my dick,” Phil just nodded fervently and Clint sucked on his dick like it was an afterthought. He was so close. Clint was pushing his finger in and out of him and he was so fucking _close_. 

 

“Clint I’m going to come,” Phil barked like it was an order, a mission directive and Very Important. 

“You gonna come?” And he fucking gave him that single raised eyebrow, sticking his tongue out and not quite touching Phil with it.

“Shut up,” Phil gasped, “Get. My cock. Please.” 

Clint grinned and swallowed Phil down deep, that finger of his fucking him so tiny and unsatisfying but better than anything at the same time. Clint licked and sucked at the same time somehow, and the lightest tug on his balls and Phil was done, flying over the precipice of orgasm with Clint’s hot mouth still there around him like a bubble of safety both guiding him back down to earth and keeping him afloat at the same time. 

 

Phil must have blacked out or died momentarily, coming back to Clint slumping down next to him and grinning before sticking his tongue out. “You.” Phil started, but his brain taking it’s time getting back online. “Did you. Fucking _swallow_?” 

“Of course,” Clint replied, cocky again and brilliant. “Rude not to.” 

Phil just whimpered. It was all much too much. But he definitely needed more, too.

 

Clint rearranged them so his head was on Phil’s chest as his breathing slowed back down, like he was listening to his heartbeat. Phil carded his least sticky hand through his hair and hoped this wasn’t some cruel absinthe-y lie. “We have to do this again.”

“Yeah?” Clint answered with what Phil hoped wasn’t second thoughts.

Phil nodded even though Clint couldn’t see. It was about all he could manage. “Still didn’t bite your ass.” 

They laughed and then didn’t move or say anything else and Phil thought he’d happily stay like that - sticky and getting cold and kind of wanting to brush his teeth - forever.

 

“Can I stay?” Clint asked haltingly, his hand trailing patterns over Phil’s stomach where he was facing away, not looking.

“Yes! Don’t. I’d.” Phil swallowed and regrouped his thoughts. “Please do.” 

“Can we get breakfast tomorrow?” 

Phil grinned. “That sounds good.” 

“You can ask me out again,” Clint said flippantly, his hand gone still.

Phil trailed the fingers of his hand down the faintly stubbly skin of Clint’s face; a show of tenderness he wasn’t sure was appropriate but hoped was ok. 

“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.” 


End file.
